Sunburn
by Ignis et Ventus
Summary: BzHp. Guilt is, by definition, remorse that is caused by feeling responsible for an offence. A weapon and a boy who has lost everything find solace in each other and share a common pain.
1. No Leaf Clover

Yes, we have another story to add…well, this one's ventus', I just type everything. All I know is that it's going to be, or it's supposed to end up as a Hp/Bz, but that's it. So I hope you enjoy the first chapter and please review!

And anyone who has also read Salvation agrees with me that she has a random obsession for chapter titles that are also songs…right?

Sunburn

Chapter 1: No leaf clover

-'Why?'

Honey eyes looked down, locks of frizzy brown hair falling to cover them.

-'I'm sorry…'

Black hair flew slightly askew as a head was shook. Fists clenched and teeth were ground together. Emerald eyes shut tightly. 'I can't do this…' A deep breath, a shaken voice. 'I miss you.'

The girl smiled sadly, a tear sliding down her cheek. 'Goodbye Harry.'

A boy awoke with a start, gasping for breath. His green eyes were wide, the pupils taking over the irises. Dried tears streaked down his pale face and his whole body in sync with his wildly beating heart. He sat up with a groan and grabbed a cup on his bed side table. After a few gulps of the clear liquid, he leaned back against his headboard and looked out of his window. The darkness of the night welcomed him, cloudless black, so close yet so far away. His orbs slipped back to the room, meeting his trembling hands.

A crystal drop landed on his bedspread followed another, and another, and another…

'Hermione…'

-'Harry, I'm worried about you.' A dark head was bowed and the owner grasped his mug tightly. Remus sat opposite him at Grimmauld place's kitchen table. 'You haven't laughed in a while. You're constantly training, even when we're not here. You and Ron are barely talking. Since Hermione-'

'Remus! How's the horcrux situation?'

'Harry…' Green eyes glared at him and he sighed deeply. 'No improvement. There are still two that are completely eluding us. Uhm…the fifth one was destroyed yesterday. We kept the pieces in case you, or Ron or her parents…'

'Throw them out.'

The seventeen year old got up and left the dark room. The werewolf sighed once more and rubbed his forehead warily. 'Oh James, Lily, what should we do with your son?'

Harry walked quickly through the hallways, intent on getting to the training rooms. He was so occupied trying to block out his treacherous thoughts that he did not see the redheaded boy walking his way.

'Oomph!'

Harry groaned and opened his eyes to see a hand thrust out in front of him. He grabbed it without second thought and was pulled upwards.

'I'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going.' He tried to answer but his throat closed up and his voice left him. All he could do was shake his head.

'Uhum, well, I…I guess I'll go then…' Harry was in a daze, thinking of first year when that same redheaded boy had erupted in the lonely train compartment and had made him feel friendship for the first time. He suddenly shook himself out of his stupor and croaked out: 'Wait, Ron!'

But it was too little too late, the redheaded boy was nearly gone. Harry caught a glimpse of his back as he disappeared into one of the many rooms that littered the hall.

Mismatched eyes glinted sadly as they took in the sight of a teenage boy furiously hitting a punching bag. His entire frame was stiff and tense and his eyes were narrowed in concentration.

Moody felt sorrow sinking into his stomach ass he watched another war hero being created. He could practically see the blocked thoughts and emotions in the boy's head. He could not pretend that he did approve of the rigorous training the teenager had inflicted upon himself. Every day he received lessons from an Order member, he would then duel with whoever was present and finally would go to that room every night and punch his frustrations away. However, since the little girl that used to accompany him had died, he and the Weasley had taken different paths. Harry was constantly busy, and just pushed the pain away. He did not heal, he simply stalled his suffering. Ron though, spent his entire summer thinking about it and was slowly but surely, moving on. Whereas the redhead was still living a relatively normal life, no life could be entirely normal during war, the other was becoming, day by day, a weapon.

'Would you like anything off of the trolley, dear?' Harry looked at the old woman and shook his head. She smiled politely and left the compartment. The seventeen year old looked out of the window silently. After about 10 minutes of awkward silence, Ron had left to join the other Gryffindor students. They were not even going to bother pretending that there was anything worth salvaging in their friendship. He took a deep breath and stood up before opening the door and taking a stroll in the train's hallways.

Carriages were lined together, pulled by dark horse like creatures called Thestrals. In one of the rapidly advancing cars sat two teenagers. On opposite benches Blaise Zabini and Harry Potter were observing each other in quiet contemplation. Dark brown eyes met piercing verdant and neither was willing to look away first. The carriage suddenly halted, signalling the end of the trip. They broke eye contact and stepped down from the method of transportation. As they hurried inside the Great Hall, they missed the other's speculative glance.


	2. Crimson

A/N: Well, that took a while didn't it, dear Ventus? It's understandable though…she only writes Sunburn when she's REALLY in the mood. And she's rarely in the mood, so…well, please review, she owns nothing (but me on the other hand…well, me neither.).

Chapter 2: Crimson

Harry descended the second floor staircase with an angry frown on his face. It had been a week since his return to school, if that's what one would call it. He sat alone in every class, his year mates having long since given up on getting him to socialize. He was still training with the teachers every night, but the lack of an exercise room and thus of a punching bag was getting on his nerves. He had no outlet for his anger and his free time, rare as it was, was very unwanted. The few moments where he had nothing to do permitted painful and often guilty thoughts to overwhelm him. Thoughts he had kept away nearly all summer.

As he was making his way across the long halls, he heard hasty footsteps coming from behind him. He ducked in a corner and watched as the person passed by before stopping also. Each looked at the other, observing the one they had been pondering on all week. Finally the taller of the two opened his mouth.

"Potter"

The Gryffindor lifted an eyebrow and said:

"Zabini"

The two boys, in an unspoken agreement, decided to walk together to the great hall, separating to their respective tables once they got inside. Sitting at the end of his house table, Harry looked up, meeting the headmaster's gaze. With the inclination of a head and a serious look, the teen understood the request for an audience and surely more training. He nodded subtly and moved his eyes to the middle of the table where he once sat with two other people. One, a girl too smart for her own good that was now but a name in an ever growing list and another, a young innocent boy who was prone to jealous bursts. A boy who, in all appearance, seemed normal, but carried darkness in his eyes. And then him. He had tried to pretend everything would be all right and to move on with his life. He tried to be a normal teenager and laugh with his friends; hanging on to what he had left. But he could not be like Ron or Seamus or Lavender or even Neville. He couldn't stay the same boy who fought year after year with the notion that good always triumphed over evil and that the world would be happy and joyful once Voldemort would die. No, he had seen too many people lose their lives to this stupid war to believe that everything would be all right.

Blaise Zabini watched intently as the boy-who-lived stared at the air dazedly. His dark green eyes were narrowed in thought and the corners of his lips were dragged downwards in a frown. The Slytherin was intrigued since the first day back at school. After losing his parents to the dark lord, who they were ironically faithful to, he spent the summer in hiding with ministry officials and Aurors. He was never one to think anything, really, when it came to the wonder boy but when he saw him lost and distraught, he was intrigued. Suddenly, someone who had once seemed so stereotypical and blind to reality was humanized. Harry Potter was now more human, more real. The Boy who lived felt pain.

Blaise brought his gaze down to the table. Pain. He also discovered the true meaning of the word as he grew up faster than he should. He had never felt more lost in his life than in the past few months. He had no ground, no stability. He felt as if he was walking on a cloud, fog surrounding him. He had nothing left. No home, no family and no future. One more year of Hogwarts and he would be considered a legal adult. He would have to fend for himself with no place to go in the real world.

The two boys got up at once, and walked out of the hall, still lost in dark thoughts. As they left, subconsciously side-by-side, the entire school population's eyes followed their exit.

Harry swiftly strode through the hallways in search of the headmaster's chambers. He finally came to a stop in front of the stone gargoyles that served as guardians to the rooms. He whispered the password and then quickly climbed the circular stairs. Arriving at the office doors, he knocked twice and entered, not waiting for an answer that he knew would not come. His head stayed bowed as he made his way to a chair. He did not want to see, to remember events that would only cause him pain. A door creaked and his back stiffened. He did not turn for he knew whom he would see.

''Mr.Potter''

His eyes slid up to the speaker and for a single moment, brown eyes turned to twinkling blue and brown hair in a bun to flowing white. He shook his head and nodded towards the headmaster.

''Ms.Mcgonagall''

Firelight illuminated thick black leather, once in a while the orange light would streak across faded yellow pages. A big, long fingered hand would slowly stroke the well-worn book, a soft look on its owner's face. As the book was once again illuminated, the words 'Hogwarts, A History' shone, clearly declaring its subject. A single drop of transparent liquid fell onto the book's cover, gaining a rainbow of colours in the treacherous light. The thick manual was suddenly taken into the darkness and against a boy's chest. As the fire slowly extinguished, a single feature of the young man stood clear, hair the same colour as the light, as crimson as blood and fire.

Moonlight invaded a tall room, concentrating on the silhouette of a boy sitting on a windowsill. His blue-black hair glistened like the midnight sky. Green eyes glinted darkly in a desperation that was nearing madness. A pale delicate hand expertly held a beautiful feather against a bright white parchment. Soon words started forming in blood red-names of people that would never be forgotten, if only by that one boy. Finally the writing ceased and the raven released a long sigh. A long mahogany stick slowly, almost tenderly, tapped the list and a voice whispered softly, "Incendio" before the not quite child threw the burning paper to the winds. As flames licked at the quickly disintegrating paper, one could still see the crimson words.

James Potter

Lily Potter

Cedric Diggory

Sirius Black

Albus Dumbledore

Hermione Granger

Complete darkness invaded a dreary dungeon, the slightly humid air suddenly seeming heavier. The only apparent thing in the endless black was a pair of glistening brown eyes. Silent crystal drops slid down pale cheeks to land on wrinkled faces, immobile in death. The Slytherin dropped a soft kiss on the old photograph and let it drop to an open box at his feet. Blaise leaned back against his crimson red sheets and let the darkness overcome him.


End file.
